


Journeying

by Philipa_Moss



Category: Joan Aiken - Wolves of Willoughby Chase series
Genre: F/M, Yuletide, challenge:New Year Resolutions 2008, recipient:Curtana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-22
Updated: 2009-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-05 00:19:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philipa_Moss/pseuds/Philipa_Moss





	Journeying

  


  
  
  
  
  


  
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## Journeying

 

Fandom: [Joan Aiken - Wolves of Willoughby Chase series](http://yuletidetreasure.org/get_fandom_quicksearch.cgi?Fandom=Joan%20Aiken%20-%20Wolves%20of%20Willoughby%20Chase%20series)

 

Written for: Curtana in the New Year Resolutions 2008 Challenge

by [phillippa_moss](http://www.yuletidetreasure.org/cgi-bin/contact.cgi?filename=58/journeying)

With the new king installed, Dido thought of doing a bit more traveling. After all, it seemed her lot in life to reappear in London, install a new king, and leave again only to do it again later on down the road. "'Twould be messin' with the order of things," Dido said to Podge, half joking. "S'pose I don't go?"

"England would probably buckle under the pressure," said Podge. At least that was what Dido supposed him to have said. There was a large pile of cleaned baby linen in his arms and a napkin had found its way into his mouth.

"Slide summa that my way," said Dido, and together they carried the folds of white fabric up the stairs and into the nursery. "How come you two ain't got no nursery maid? You got the money for it, and you got the other servants."

Podge put his armful down on the tiny chest of drawers his father, ten days before his death, had built for the baby and reached for Dido's as well. "Sophie says she'd rather do it herself. She regrets not knowing her mother, I think."

Dido nodded. She would have loved to have never known her own mother, but did not say as much to Podge. That comment belonged to another time, another, less sunshine-and-whitewash room, another Dido Twite.

"And I don't mind," said Podge. "I like to help. It's just when Sophie goes traveling and takes the baby too that I get lonely."

"Where's she off to this time?"

"Down the Poor Farm way, trying to see if she can't get the king to close the place down. 'Course it would have been easier to do that last year, before Simon stepped down."

"But she'll visit the otters any road, right? I used to think them otters was the bat's jammers."

"Dido, I'd imagine the otters that raised Soph are dead."

Dido pondered this, and imagined Podge was right. Still, "I wouldn't mind seeing otters what raised Sophie and all. Mebbe I'll go down there too on my way."

"On your way where?"

Podge and Dido turned. Simon was standing in the doorway, a tiny pink and yellow nightgown over his shoulder. He came into the room, holding it out for Podge. "Mrs. Buckle let me in. I think you dropped this on the stairs."

Podge took the piece of flannel from him. "Thankee. We would've missed that, come winter."

Simon stretched. The muscles in his shoulders bunched as he reached heavenward. Dido folded a towel. "Sophie's not in?"

Podge shook his head. "No. You don't remember? She's off at Gloober's."

"Oh." Simon shuddered. "Yes. I had completely forgotten." He looked aimlessly around the room. "I had actually come to talk to her about the barony. Apparently there are a lot of children in the woods by the house and she had mentioned wanted to do something for them..."

"She'll be back tomorrow," Podge said. "I'll tell her you asked."

"I'm riding up there first thing in the morning," said Simon. "I wanted to catch her before I was off."

"You're first time seeing the place?" asked Podge.

"Yes," said Simon. "I shall probably never live there permanently, but it's nice to know what I've been given."

Throughout their conversation, Dido had continued to fold the airy little clothes and the towels as soft as doves and the matching booties and hats. She couldn't imagine what had gone wrong with her neck. It wouldn't unbend. She was stuck staring at Simon's shoes. Nor could she imagine what was wrong with her cheeks. They burned.

"Stay for dinner," Podge offered. "You can tell me what you wanted to tell Soph and then I'll let her know all about it tomorrow."

Simon glanced at Dido. Podge followed his gaze. "Dido was having dinner with me anyway. To keep me company while Sophie and Wally are gone."

"Oh," said Simon.

Podge looked from Dido to Simon and back again. He unsubtly scratched his head. Then he said, "I'll leave you two up here while I let Mrs. Buckle know about dinner." He went to the doorway and paused worriedly. "Just be sure the clothes go in the top drawer. It's the driest."

Once he was out of the room, Dido expelled a breath. "Rabbity, he is. Just 'cause he got a kid now he's got to act like the rest of us got no sense?"

"I suppose so," said Simon. "I suppose that's what fatherhood means, to some."

"If only Wally could see him right now," said Dido, and instantly regretted it because of the look on Simon's face. She winced. "Listen, Simon-"

"There's no need." Simon held up a hand. "Sophie told me the two of you are sharing a place. I understand. I just thought, maybe..." He trailed off. "How is, Wally anyway?"

"Tolerable," said Dido. "His dad's death weren't easy on him. But now he's in Paris, mebbe-"

"Wally's in Paris?"

Dido stomped her foot. "Mebbe if you'd leave off interruptin' me I could get a word out between now and Bloody Sunday."

Simon nodded and found a seat on the window ledge. "Sorry. Go on."

Dido sat down too, cross-legged on the floor. She hunched her shoulders in and Simon leaned forward instinctively, knowing she was about to make a revelation.

"Wally's in Paris. He's openin' the thingummy. The branch store. 'S'a coffee stall too properly, like his one here, but he calls it the branch store."

"I'm sorry," said Simon. "You must miss him."

"Well where'd you think he was for muck's sake, Wimbledon?"

"And are the two of you-Do you have any plans for the future?"

Dido fixed her eye on him. "Simon, Wally and I ain't, um, courting. He's a fine cove and all but he ain't interested in me one lick."

Simon glanced out the window. The sun was going down and the room was dyed orange. "It's been so long since we spoke plainly to each other, Dido. I don't know when the last time was, but I count it as one of the happiest times of my life."

"When you was drownin' on that rock we were speakin' pretty plain. You was happy then?"

"Not in the usual sense," Simon conceded, grinning. "But I was happy to be with you."

Dido waved him off. "You was dying. You was happy I saved your life, but you didn't really like me overmuch."

"I liked you," Simon said hurriedly. "I liked you almost from the first."

"While you was callin' me 'brat' you liked me?"

"I did. Of course I did. You didn't know that?"

Dido shook her head, suddenly struck with fascination for the grain of the floorboards. Simon slid off the window ledge and knelt on the floor. "Dido, I'm happy to just be with you. I always have been and I always will be. But if you feel you can't be with me at all, I will try to understand."

"Just be with you?"

"Only that." For a moment he seemed to falter. "Of course if there's something more, I'd-" He cut himself off; he shook his head, vexed. "No."

"Holy mustard. Spit it out."

Simon shook his head. "No. But what I mean is, I feel as if, well, as if, ever since I asked you to marry me, we've been dancing around each other and talking at cross-purposes, or you've been gone, or I've been gone and we haven't spoken in ages and I want that to end. I want things to go back to the way they were. I love you."

Dido looked across at him out of the corner of her eye. "Simon, you're my best mate."

"I know," he said miserably.

"I want to be with you too. You don't think the happiest time of my life was that afternoon at the fair?"

Simon grinned. He even managed a little laugh.

"But you're right 'bout things changin'. I was young at the fair. Talkin' pigs was enough. Now I want more."

Simon shook his head. "I don't know what I can give you. I've tried everything. Maybe we're just not meant to be friends as adults."

Dido could hear Mrs. Buckle bustling about downstairs. The beginnings of a baking bread smell could be sensed coming from the kitchen. Smelled. Almost felt. It was the kind of dusk, of early evening, when bread should be baking downstairs.

Heavens knew where Podge had put himself. Probably messing with his old art supplies, Dido surmised. The fellow was scatterbrained. He had probably completely forgotten his guests upstairs.

Dido uncrossed her legs. She got up on her knees, mirroring Simon. "Mebbe you're right. Mebbe we can't just."

"Then what-?"

Dido grinned slowly. "There's other things, I heard." And quietly she leaned over and kissed him. At some point Simon's mouth opened under hers, hot and insisting, but they never moved from their positions kneeling on the floor. Dido pulled away first. "There's always other things."

Simon had a look on his face she had never seen before and all of a flash it came to Dido that Simon was right. They were, at long last, adults. "We have to be friends as well," he said. "And you have to marry me."

Dido shrugged. She smiled. "Alright. I will."

Podge could be heard at the bottom of the stairs, calling their names.

"Ready?" Dido asked Simon. "You want to go travelin' with me?"

"Yes," he said. "I believe I do."

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